[John Clark Ridpath]

Mon cher Monsieur le Secretaire, Your song flits with me everywhere; It lights on Fancy's prow and sings Me on divinest voyagings: And when my ruler love would fain Be laid upon it--high again It mounts, and hugs itself from me With rapturous wings--still dwindlingly-- On!--on! till but a ghost is there Of song, Monsieur le Secretaire!